Winter's Rest
by Livvy1800
Summary: Two years after Steve Rogers learned of Bucky's existence, and he's beginning to despair of ever helping his friend recover from what HYDRA made him. He has one last idea, but former KGB assassin and S.H.I.E.L.D operative Natasha Romanoff is NOT going to like it. SPOILERS: Captain America movies One and Two!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This is sort of based off of the movie, with some ideas thrown in from reading the Winter Soldier/Black Widow comics. But none of its mine, originally. Just playing with it. Enjoy!**

Chapter One

"You're kidding me, right? This is a joke." Natasha Romanoff, now infamously known worldwide as the Black Widow, narrowed her eyes at her former S.H.I.E.L.D. colleague. "No way. Not happening."

"Look, if we had anyone else—"

"_Not_ my problem."

Steve Rogers, Captain America, sighed and ran his hand through his short blonde hair, looking frustrated. Too damn bad. What he was asking was way out of line. Why he even thought she'd be amendable to this craziness was beyond her.

"Natasha. Please," Steve said, his voice low, and raw with suppressed emotion. "You know I wouldn't ask unless I... unless we had no one else. I know you two have history, and none of it's good. But I can't trust anyone else with him."

She clenched her jaw, and stared over his shoulder at the snowcapped Alaskan mountains in the distance. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, _dammit_!

"You're the only one of us who knows exactly what he's been through. He's broken, and he needs to heal. Even a year in one of the best facilities in the world hasn't made much of a dent. He won't talk, not even to me. I'm praying you can help bring him back, because if you can't, I'm out of ideas."

"Alright, Jesus, enough with the sob story." Natasha threw one hand up, furious that he had gotten to her. The man in question, if he could even still be called a man, had shot her not once, but _twice_. And lived to walk away. Not only was her professional pride wounded, but for the longest time he was the one man on Earth who frightened her. Her own personal bogeyman.

The Winter Soldier.

But to Steve Rogers, he was still his old pal from Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes. The Cap just couldn't admit there was nothing of his best friend left inside the hardened, remorseless killer. He had spent the better part of the last two years tracking down Barnes, and taking him from doctor to doctor, hospital to hospital.

Natasha snuck a look at where Barnes waited for them, down by the lake that sat about a hundred yards from her cabin. He was just sitting on a tree stump, staring at nothing, his hands loose and empty in his lap. His face was thinner than she remembered, but he hadn't lost any of his muscular bulk. The scruff day old beard and shaggy hair testified he hadn't taken a sudden interest in his appearance over the last two years either.

In fact, he didn't look like he really cared about anything at all. Like he'd given up. She'd seen the same look of desolation on the faces of some of the vets Sam counseled over at the V.A. hospital, who just couldn't seem to adjust to civilian life again. That could of been her one day, if Clint hadn't found her, and convinced her to switch sides. Burnt out, with nowhere to go, no one left to turn to.

Natasha swore under her breath in Russian, and turned away. "Fine, I'll take him. But you are going to owe me so big, Rogers."

"Thank you. Thank you so mu—"

"Seriously, it's going to be huge."

"I don't care. Whatever you need. It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're helping." Steve's smile was sweet, and trusting. America's golden boy. Natasha sighed again. How'd he get stuck with a couple of broken, messed up assassins like her and Barnes?

"Bucky!" Steve called down to Barnes, who glanced over, his expression unreadable. "C'mon. Natasha said you could stay here for a while."

Barnes rose, and slowly walked to the house, stopping a few feet from the porch. Natasha fought the instinct to reach for the gun that never left her thigh holster, as if holding the weapon in her hand would comfort her. Studying her with vacant, dark eyes, Barnes waited with his hands relaxed at his sides. She wasn't fooled, she'd seen him in action enough to know he could still probably kill one of them before they could react. But he didn't seem to radiate the intense hostility he had in their past encounters. He just seemed kind of... not really there.

The silence stretched out, until finally Steve clapped his hands, rubbing them together with fake cheer. "Okay. Well, then it's settled. Bucky, I'm envious of you, old bud. This place is amazing. Sixteen acres of prime Alaskan backcountry real estate. Most people pay a fortune to vacation in places like this, I'm told. Look at that view!"

Barnes didn't say anything, his eyes still on Natasha. She narrowed hers, warning him silently. Maybe she wasn't a super soldier, but she knew a few party tricks, if he decided to get feisty.

Steve cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"Alright. So... yeah, I'm gonna to go." He clapped Barnes on the shoulder once, placing an Army green duffel at the other man's feet, and turned to walk to the helicopter they'd arrived on. After a few yards, he hesitated, then stopped. Turning back, he looked at Bucky, then at her again. "Natasha, call me if anything... well. Just call me."

"You bet I will. Now go. I got this."

One last worried glance at his best friend, who hadn't looked once his way since their arrival, and then Steve boarded the helicopter. Shielding her eyes from the clouds of dirt the blades kicked up as the chopper lifted into the air, Natasha watched until the bird was just a speck in the sky.

Okay. Freaking wonderful. Now what?

She turned to Barnes, who had moved closer to the foot of the steps while she'd been distracted by the helicopter's departure. Now he was only a yard or so from her, and she smothered the urge to back away, to put space between them. But if she did, she'd be showing herself as the weaker party, and _that_ would lead to disaster.

She raised an eyebrow. "Hungry? I've got soup on the stove."

Forcing herself to turn her back to him and walk into the cabin, she couldn't help the way her shoulders tensed, but what assassin worth their salt wouldn't? He wouldn't see that as a weakness. Now, if she'd _not_ had her guard up, _that_ he would have responded to, like a feral wolf with a rabbit in his sights.

Natasha picked up a wooden spoon next to the pot of soup, and stirred, waiting to see if he'd follow. After a long moment, the screen door opened again and slammed shut, as he stepped inside. Glancing around, Barnes lowered his duffel bag to the floor next to the door, then moved further into the room. She didn't speak, giving him a moment to catalogue all the exits and possible weapons. It would make him feel easier, knowing he had options, and she'd take any edge against the tension that held him that she could.

Ladling out two bowls, she set them on the small table by the kitchen window, leaving him the seat with its back to the corner.

"Food's hot."

He looked over, dark eyes flickering between her, the chair, and the soup. She could almost see the wheels turning, studying the set-up, looking for a trap.

"It's just soup. Nothing scary."

His gaze narrowed at her faintly mocking tone, but he moved to the table, dropping into the chair. For a moment, he looked at the bowl in front of him, then reached out to grasp the spoon with slow deliberation. His fingers clenched on the metal, knuckles turning white, but he picked it up and dipped it into the soup.

Then he just froze up, shoulders hunched.

Natasha sucked in a quiet breath, as a wave of pure rage hit her. He was waiting for permission to eat. Barnes had forced himself to manage picking up the spoon and actually putting it into the soup, but that's as much as he seemed to be able to master. Clearly, he was hungry, but his training would not allow him to raise the spoon from the bowl.

Those bastards, those filthy, disgusting, HYDRA bastards. Worse than the frigging KGB. At least _she'd_ never been trained into submission to the point where even the smallest independent decision would break her, as it seemed Barnes had been.

Her jaw felt like it was welded shut, but she was able to push out a single sentence. "Go ahead and eat. It's not going to get any warmer."

Barnes drew in a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. But he raised the spoon to his mouth, and shoved the food inside. Eating methodically, he cleaned the bowl, and the second one that she placed in front of him. When she went to take his bowl for a third helping, though, he just gave a single shake of his head. Progress. At least he was allowed to say when he was full.

Her own appetite destroyed, Natasha dropped her half empty bowl in the sink and gestured to him to follow. Barnes picked up his duffel, and they climbed the stairs to the second level. Pushing open one of the doors, she gestured inside.

"Here's your room. I'm two doors down. Bathroom's between us, and there's only one. Keep that in mind when getting ready in the morning, pretty boy," she said. He just stepped into the room, taking in every detail with those dark, empty eyes. Natasha leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms, watching with interest as he tossed the duffel onto the bed. Crossing to the window, he opened it, leaned out, looked down. Looked up. Closed the window and locked it again, then drew the curtains.

"Everything to your liking, then?" She raised an eyebrow. Barnes glanced over, gave her a short nod. "Fantastic. If you need me, which I'm sure you won't, I'll be around. Get some rest, Barnes. You look like crap."

If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his dead gaze. But it was gone so quickly, Natasha decided it was wishful thinking. Steve was kidding himself if he thought hanging out in the middle of soon to be frozen nowhere, with a former KGB assassin, was going to bring his friend back from whatever corner of Hell his mind resided in now. There was nothing there to save. Nothing left. Only the empty shell of a killer set loose, with no purpose and no plan.

Natasha just shook her head, pushed off the doorjamb, and headed back downstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine! All Marvel's.

Chapter Two

_Fire everywhere. A building nearby explodes, cement and mortar flying outward in lethal chunks. Screams and gunfire ring in his ears._

_He slips down a darkened alley, his target in his sights. She'd run from him, but not fast enough. She sobs as she realizes he's herded her into a dead end, the brick wall against her back as she holds out her hands. Pleads for her life, tears streaking her terrified face._

_"Please, please. My father...he'll give you anything. Please. Oh, God, don't."_

_He doesn't want to hurt her. She's so young, not even out of her school years. Fingers twitch on the trigger of the gun he's got trained on her chest. But there's another voice drowning hers out, buzzing in his brain, until he whimpers and shakes his head._

_"Focus. She is your mission. Finish it. FINISH IT."_

_The world is spinning, spinning out of control, and all he can see is her face, chalky white and tearstained._

_"Please..."_

_He pulls the trigger._

Bucky jerks awake, flailing against the confines of the sheet tangled around his torso. He rips it off, and swings his legs from the bed, relieved to feel the solid wooden floor under his feet. The world was still spinning, shades of gray blurring before his eyes. Bracing his forearms on his thighs, he leaned forward, head in his hands, and struggled for a full breath.

The nightmares, they won't leave him alone, they won't allow him to rest. A few minutes here and there is all he manages, before being plunged back into dreams of death and destruction. Dreams. Ha. _Memories_. Violent chaos that_ he_ had caused, day after day, year after year. He deserved to be haunted by the things he'd done, the lives he took. These nightmares were his penance, his living hell.

After he'd found Bucky living in a cave in rural Afghanistan, Steve had told him, over and over, it wasn't his fault. That HYDRA had brainwashed him, that he couldn't hold himself responsible for the things they'd ordered him to do.

But he did.

If he'd only been stronger, resisted their machines, their torture. If only he'd been brave enough to end it before it began. There'd been times, early on, when they thought him too weak to cause trouble, that he could have found a way. It was his private shame, his agony, that he'd selfishly wanted to live more than he'd wanted to stop what they were doing to him. Then it was too late, and he wasn't himself anymore. Not really.

Now he had to live with his choice, and it was worse than anything he'd ever imagined.

Blowing out a breath, he stood and walked to the window, twitching the edge of the curtain aside. Through the narrow gap, he watched the rising sun paint the world in shades of gold and pink. Rosy light slipped over the forest and expanses of gently rolling hills that led up to the property. Even the calm waters of the lake steamed with mist tinted by the waking sun.

Movement caught his eye, and Bucky stepped back, leaving only the very edge of his face exposed. But it was Natasha, jogging up the dirt road toward the house. Dressed in all black, her tee shirt and pants molded to her body, the line uninterrupted, except the gun she never seemed to go anywhere without. He could understand that. Even with his bionic arm, he felt naked without at least three weapons hidden somewhere on his body.

Stopping as she came into the yard, Natasha pulled the earbuds from her ears and started stretching, reaching over her head skyward. Standing on one foot, then another, she doubled her leg up, pulling it tight up behind her butt. As she spread her legs out, then swung her upper body down to press her hands flat to the ground, her vivid red hair falling forward to shield her face, Bucky's fingers tightened on the curtains.

It had been so long since he'd been with a woman.

Decades.

He hadn't cared, before. But now that he'd been cut loose, certain feelings and urges were beginning to make themselves known again. Up until now they'd been easily ignored, mere vague itches. Tension caught hold of him, tightening his muscles, quickening his breathing. The itch wasn't so vague now. It was begging to be scratched, as he watched her amble toward the house, looking pleased with herself.

Bucky dropped the curtain and stepped back, scrubbing his human hand over his face. No. He was tainted, a beast. Worse. At least animals killed for food and pack hierarchy. His kills had been empty of personal intention, except to cause as much damage as possible. He didn't deserve pleasure, not after all the pain he'd caused.

After giving himself time to lock down any remaining emotions, Bucky made his way down to the kitchen. The enticing scent of coffee was too strong to ignore, it was one of the few things he allowed himself to indulge in these days. Natasha was sitting at the table, reading something on her laptop when he walked in.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said, her sharp gaze running over him.

He just grunted, and headed for the coffeemaker. Taking down a mug, he poured a full cup, then leaned his back against the counter to blow on it before sipping. The fragment steam curled up into his face, bringing old memories of mornings growing up, watching his father enjoy his coffee before heading off to the bank.

"Hey there. Still here, Barnes?"

Natasha's throaty voice brought him back with a jerk, and Bucky took a long swallow of his coffee, welcoming the burn as it slid down his throat. Even the few good memories he had were clouded now. He'd missed so much.

"You know, you've been here for almost two weeks and haven't said so much as _Hey, how's it going?_ to me." She tapped her fingers on the keyboard, her attention seemingly focused on the screen in front of her. But he saw the darting sideways glances she threw him, when she thought he wasn't looking. "I'm getting a little sick of the sound of my own voice. Are you seriously going play mute forever?"

Bucky just stared at her over the rim of his mug, until she looked up. Her blue eyes narrowed, then she shrugged and turned back to the screen.

"Fine. Whatever. It could be worse, I guess." She flashed him a grin, her expression suddenly mischevious. "You could be Loki. That would _definitely_ be worse."

He watched her type on the keyboard, her fingers flying, brows furrowed in concentration. Computers weren't his thing, even though he'd seen the idea born, and grow, over the decades. Still, it was one of the only pieces of technology that made him uncomfortable. Not that he's admit it.

Taking another contemplative sip of coffee, Bucky studied the fall of Natasha's bright hair.

"I know you."

Her fingers stilled, and she turned to face him with wary eyes. "Well, yeah. I would hope so, since you've been living in my house."

"No. I _know_ you. From the KGB. Well, from HYDRA, really," he said, placing his cup in the sink, then turning back and crossing his arms over his chest. His metal arm jerked a little, reminding him that it had been months since he'd let Dr. Banner look at it.

"I didn't know you."

"They talked about you. Asked me to watch your training sessions. You were the best they'd ever seen. Except for me, of course."

Natasha drew a breath in through her nose, and snapped the top of the laptop closed. "You... watched me?"

"Yes. I designed most of your training regimen."

"Gee, thanks for that. It was sheer delight."

"But you've survived where others haven't. Because of your training." She acknowledged his statement with a grudging nod. Faint pride washed through him, as he recalled her refusal to give up, even during the most torturous routines he'd worked up for her. "Be glad S.H.I.E.L.D. converted you when they did. You were slated to become HYDRA's next human weapon. The super soldier serum had been replicated, though it did have a few... issues. But Peirce was adamant that he wanted to _improve_ you next."

Natasha's face was pale, but she lifted her chin and looked right at him. "A matched pair of unstoppable killers."

He smiled faintly, the old bitter anger slicing at him. "Exactly. But HYDRA couldn't touch you once you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. You were too close to Fury, and Barton."

"I guess I owe Clint more than I realized." She broke eye contact, staring at the wall behind him, her brows pinched together. After a moment, she refocused on him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You took me in, when you could have easily turned me away. You had every right, after what I'd done." It was the closest he could come to acknowledging out loud that he'd shot her. Twice. The regret was heavy as he watched her face close up, blue eyes going glacier cold. "Despite our history, you gave me a bed. I thought you deserved to know what I know, for that."

"I didn't do it for you."

He nodded, thinking of Steve's worried face when he'd left. "I know."

Standing abruptly, Natasha gathered her laptop and moved to the doorway. She glanced back, her gaze still cool. "And to think I'd actually _wanted_ you to talk to me. I think I've had enough company for a while. I'm headed to the range out back. Feel free to make yourself scarce for the next few hours."

Bucky watched her leave with a faint smile he didn't feel. That was no surprise, that she didn't want to be around him. He'd just revealed several unpleasant truths about her past, ones that would probably shake up her world view for a while. He really couldn't blame her for wanting him out of her sight. If he could have escaped his own presence, he would too.

Pushing off the counter, Bucky headed for the front door. He'd take her advice, and make himself scarce. Go for a run. Push his body without mercy, until exhaustion claimed him. If he ran fast enough and hard enough, maybe he could even outrun himself.


End file.
